


Time, and the end of all things

by hongmunmu



Series: Life, Death, Time, Earth [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Dependency, Flashbacks, M/M, Multi, Obsession, Trans Character, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hongmunmu/pseuds/hongmunmu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Covering the life Kabuto Yakushi spent with Orochimaru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time, and the end of all things

He came in the summer.

Yes, this was the first true summer of Yakushi Kabuto's life, ten years old, when the rice fields sweltered in the heat and a chorus of cicadas would sing louder every hour in the tall grasses. To Kabuto, it seemed now that last year's cicadas had been no more than a murmur, the sunrays weak and blossoms small. But nothing had ever seemed as bright and beautiful as it had in the summer that Orochimaru came to him.

 

* * *

 

 

The Konoha troops in the orphanage yard were causing quite a fuss among the small number living there, weary and browbeaten for the most part, severity of their wounds varying. Those with broken legs or bleeding slashes lay on stretchers or mats in lines; the rest stood or sat in waiting as the medical ninja and orphanage members healed them one by one. Kabuto was still among the youngest there, and so, forgotten by the elders with more pressing matters on their hands, he had tasked himself with fetching clean water from the well to assist in washing wounds. It was on his fourth run, however, that Mother eventually called him over, looking tired although not defeated, gesturing urgently with her free hand. Kabuto ran over.

"Kabuto," she said quickly, "can you go over there and help with treating wounds? We don't have enough medical ninja here." Timid, he began to protest, but Nonou merely smiled at him wearily. "We need all the help we can get."

And so it was that Kabuto found himself calling over a certain soldier with a broken arm - nothing too serious, Nonou had told him. He left the more dire cases to the experienced older ninja, turning his attention to the ambiguously gendered soldier making his way over to him. He carried himself with more grace than the others, Kabuto noted - not necessarily softer, but smaller - he took shorter steps and avoided the staggering, slumping posture exemplified by the others Kabuto had treated. He seemed to exude an aura of authority; hardiness.

As the man sat down opposite him, Kabuto smiled pleasantly; though in truth he was a little intimidated. Taking the bloodied, bony arm into his hands and beginning the surge of emerald healing chakra, he suddenly felt acutely aware of the man's gaze.

"You're very skilled at medical ninjutsu." The man was soft-spoken, androgynous voice whispery and somewhat ragged; understandable considering the amounts of ash and smoke shinobi were exposed to.

"Mother taught me," Kabuto said, trying not to sound overly proud of himself, which he very much was. The soldier matched his smile, giving him an odd look as he tilted his head to the side.

"Why not become a shinobi?" He asked. It was a simple question, but for Kabuto it held a great deal of weight.

"I'm not interested in that. I just want to help Mother at the orphanage."

The Konoha shinobi only gave him another odd look.

"That's a shame. I'm sure you'd be a great one."

Kabuto smiled, flattered. But he offered no further opinions on the matter.

And, a while later, as the soldier walked to join the rest of the troops, arm bandaged and set; he glanced back over his shoulder, narrow eyes very focused on Kabuto from behind strands of long, dark hair. Their eyes met briefly. Something in the soldier's amber eyes seemed as though they had more to say. As though they were not finished here.  
It would be some six years before Kabuto would see those eyes again.

 

* * *

 

 

Orochimaru was thirty three and there was a slow rush of adrenaline spreading through his blood.

He had only just arrived in Iwa; the first time he felt truly safe in what must have been several weeks on the run from Konoha authorities.

Yet he was not resting; for here his true plans could finally begin. He was waiting for something very important to happen.

Yes. Any minute now.  
There.

He felt it somehow, sensed it in the air; a sudden surge of distressed chakra. Familiar chakra. In a blur he was gone and rushing through pipes, through water, and breaking the surface, directly opposite the child -

And there he was, still almost exactly the same as how he had been six years prior; though perhaps, Orochimaru noted light-heartedly, more distraught than last time.  
Thorough predictions into the chain of events that had evidently just taken place had led Orochimaru to pinpointing when the ideal moment to target Yakushi Kabuto would be. Right now, as the boy turns to an identity crisis, Orochimaru would offer himself as a new path to take, and with his only other competitor being Danzo, it was almost certain that Kabuto would choose to follow him.

Orochimaru could not explain it. Perhaps the manner in which he orchestrated the circumstances were cruel - but there was no other way to resolve it. Orochimaru could not leave such talent - potential - to a grim fate at the hands of Danzo Shimura.

"It seems you no longer see yourself clearly."

Kabuto's glasses were cracked towards the bottom, and Orochimaru's dark hair was drenched and plastered to the sides of his face in waves. A hand was outstretched, and a hand was taken.

The rest of this story we surely know.

Some mornings he was autumn, chilled, crisp, damp as the leaves that littered the doorways stairs and paths of the Otogakure base. Swift, curt, he would brush past Kabuto on his way to his study, ignoring the various requests to take his medicine or otherwise. Others, he was hazy, humid summer air. Not drowsy, but languid; his movements slow and words slightly slurred. He would shuffle down the stairs not dressed properly; long hair dishevelled and kimono loosely tied and improperly knotted, falling off around the shoulders and neck. It was at times like that Kabuto felt grateful that no other subordinates shared their quarters, for in front of the vast majority of Oto shinobi, he appeared as a dignified leader, a mast; an intimidating figure of authority. Someone they looked up to; someone they feared.

 

* * *

 

 

Orochimaru had three types of day, Kabuto observed.

On the first, Kabuto would not see his master at all. Holed away in his laboratories with the doors locked, ignoring those who attempted to get his attention; so deftly focused in his experiments - creation or destruction, whichever it was - that at times it would almost worry Kabuto, not hearing a word from the man for days on end. Sometimes it would only last a day, and others almost a week. But eventually, he would emerge from behind the steel doors; pronounced dark circles under his eyes, looking tired and ill and smelling of chemicals. At which point Kabuto would forcefully present him with some pill or potion and usher him to bed, where he would more often than not proceed to sleep for a day or two.

On the second he was half-asleep and disillusioned with life, absently lying around on windowsills or recliners, crumpling expensive silk kimono as he turned over and complained about one thing or the next. Though there were never truly times when Orochimaru lost interest in staying alive - such a thing would challenge the very nature of his existence - he would moan often – _I can’t go **on** , Kabuto, _he’d say, _I have no **inspiration**_. Kabuto never understood where this came from. Creating new jutsu couldn't possibly require inspiration, as Orochimaru called it; they were just new strengths. They could be virtually anything, surely. He did not concern himself with such trivial complaints; just gently chided his master as if he were a lazy teenager refusing to work, and busied himself with some chore or otherwise.

On the third, he was just Orochimaru. He would be snarky and saccharinely, sarcastically benevolent, seated at his desk or study, writing out new scrolls to document his findings or sorting paperwork. Occasionally he would get bored; and they would sit on a balcony, or in the garden, and discuss their plans for the future - of which there were many. Other times he would suddenly drop everything and announce he was going for a solitary walk and demanded not to be followed; and would return, twelve hours later, with some starving homeless orphan under his wing. Indeed, Kabuto never remembered their names, the hundreds of children Orochimaru brought back with him to the bases like stray animals; but Orochimaru always did. And the ones who had no names, he would give them one. He would bring them up occasionally, some mention of their progress, small achievement, or even a scuffle on the outskirts; as though each and every one mattered to him.

Kabuto knew better than that.

Orochimaru cared for nothing but himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Kabuto didn't think back to his meeting with Orochimaru often. Indeed, his life before Otogakure was very much faded; less actual memories, and more a vague, blurry picture of what his life once was. The years blurred together, and he saw little more than two images; first, a child surrounded by a family in a bright place. The second, the same child alone under a red sky. Beyond that, nothing more; simply Orochimaru, and Otogakure.

_I want to create a village that nurtures individuality._

Had Orochimaru succeeded?

Kabuto paused his musing to look out over the landscape.

This particular base was one of his favourites. Possibly one of the largest constructions Orochimaru had in Otogakure, it was difficult to even call it a hideout; the only thing keeping it concealed was the thick blanketing of tall gingko forest that stretched for miles, and heavy mist that clung to the mountainous region like a plague. For here was Orochimaru's favoured place to train his students rather than experiment; out in the expanses of land where they would not have to worry about the noise or conspicuous animal summons, concealed from a distance by the mist and trees. Yet in the afternoons, a low sun would shine through the brilliantly hued biloba leaves, tangerine and honey and amber; and the whole hideout would be illuminated with the golden light, as if life had been breathed into the cold dark wooden frame of the building and warmed it from the core. And occasionally, he would catch sight of Orochimaru leaning by a window or balcony, and the light of the orange trees and sun reflected in his eyes and restored their auriferous glow. And they were happy.

Yes, this was by far Kabuto's favourite hideout.

Though the others certainly held their advantages, hidden labyrinths of dimly-lit stone corridors concealed deep underground - deep underground where no-one would hear the screams -

It was this hideout that made Otogakure feel less like a sinister lie, and more like a village.

For the building was tall; built to hold hundreds of people. It was not secure like many of the heavily-guarded prisons Orochimaru watched so carefully; he relied on the dense forest and Otogakure border as protection enough from outsiders. Nothing of true value to their plans was here, for all of Orochimaru's studies and experiments were conducted in the fortresses and underground labs. No, here there were simply Otogakure shinobi, some even old enough to have families, children; living their lives peacefully, unbeknownst of the horrors that went on in darker, colder parts of Otogakure. And with such fearless attitudes so widespread among those living in lower parts of the hideout, it was easy to adopt a similar mindset. Not that Kabuto was squeamish or particularly bothered by Orochimaru's secret agenda; but even so, there was something oddly comforting about being able to forget that you live life as a graverobber at twenty-five.

 

* * *

 

 

"You."

Kabuto looked over his shoulder in surprise to see Sasuke standing, complete with oversized nightclothes, in the corridor behind him, looking moderately infuriated. Immediately he put on a demure smile.

"Why, Sasuke-kun. What would you be doing up at this hour?"

Sasuke glared. In the dark it was a little hard to see but Kabuto could have sworn he saw the Sharingan activate.

"I can't sleep. You didn't tell me there would be all these stupid birds."

Kabuto very nearly snorted with laughter but managed to stop himself.

"Sasuke-kun, this  _is_  the Land of Sound, you know." He was about to say something else along with an irritating smirk as he pushed up his glasses but Sasuke had already shoved past him and was striding down the poorly-lit hallway. Kabuto whipped around and jogged after him. "Where do you think you're going?!"

"I'm going to tell Orochimaru to shut these fucking owls up."

"First of all," Kabuto said in annoyance, placing one hand on Sasuke's shoulder and tugging the determined twelve-year-old back, "- watch your language. Second, you will do no such thing, because Orochimaru-sama is asleep. Third, you should use an honorific when referring to him, and fourth, there's nothing we can do about the noise. You'll get used to it eventually, because it's background noise that our brains are naturally used to ..."

Sasuke scowled, trying to look intimidating while he thought of what to do. Frustratingly, he really could not think of a sensible way of shutting up the outside world. Surely, with all of  _the great Orochimaru's power_ , there must have been something –

 

"...But if you  _really can't bear it_ , Sasuke, there is a very simple solution."

In Kabuto's hand were a pair of earplugs.

 

* * *

 

Admittedly, their agenda had changed somewhat since the arrival of Sasuke, Kabuto mused as he finished his night-time rounds. That episode with Sasuke was not an uncommon occurance; nearly every new resident of Otogakure had complained about the noise in their first few nights there. Personally, Kabuto had enjoyed it; it was comforting, almost. He valued nature and enjoyed being reminded of its presence; Oto was an ideal place for that, the constant hum of cicadas in the summer, the leaves and branches that crunched beneath his feet as he walked over them in the autumn; in spring, the constant hum of morning birds, and April rains; and in winter, hail hitting the roof. Through the day, the deafening roar of the crickets droned perpetually in the background; in the night the owls called, and sometimes at the hidden fortresses and laboratories, in the early hours of morning, there would be the faintest echoes of screams.

Yes, Otogakure was a wealth of noise.

 

* * *

 

  
It was drawing to the near hours of morning by the time Kabuto finished his rounds. Not that he minded; he was a light sleeper anyway. He knocked gently on Orochimaru's door.

"Orochimaru-sama?"

There was no reply. Kabuto knocked once more very quietly. "I'm coming in."

The translucent drapes were wide open, blowing lightly in the breeze. Orochimaru was sitting upright in his bed, his back to Kabuto, leaning on the windowsill. His cheek rested on one hand while the other hung loosely out of the window. He gazed out over the expanse of forest in front of him from above.

  "Orochimaru-sama."

Orochimaru just kept staring out. Kabuto sighed, putting down his candle on the table by the door. "Can't sleep?"

The pale man let out a tired, wistful noise.

  "It's too quiet," he said softly.

The night winds made a hushed, wailing noise, as they rustled the leaves of the ginkgo biloba forest. Several strands of long, silky hair fell from behind Orochimaru's ear and blew across his face. Silently, they stared out at the moon through the circular window.

 

* * *

 

  

_"You're still not afraid of me?"_

 

_His voice was tired, gentler than usual, as if he wasn't expecting an answer. The only light in the room was a pale green-blue glow emanating from the various ceiling-high tanks that stood towards the walls. Inside the tanks were creatures deformed beyond Kabuto's wildest imagination. Orochimaru's face was placid and pensive as he gazed upon them. Reflections of the monstrosities within the tanks danced on the thin slitted eyes. Eyes that were far away, Kabuto noted. The boy did not doubt, Orochimaru had something on his mind, something that the honey eyes, so fixated on the wretch behind the glass, were not telling him._

 

_Orochimaru had sad eyes._

_Kabuto felt nothing._

 

_"No."_

* * *

 

From the day they had first met, Orochimaru had not been under the impression that Manda was child-friendly. He was foul-mouthed, violent, hard to impress and very prone to threats.

But then, he supposed with a smirk, Sasuke had more or less the same traits.

Immediately after Sasuke had arrived at Otogakure, they had traveled to the aforementioned forest hideout where Orochimaru had presented Sasuke with a wooden chokuto  - having later recieved a real one which he had aptly named Kusanagi - and begun his physical training on a small scale, during the sunlit hours where they would practice kenjutsu in the clearings between golden trees. The forest hideout, in Orochimaru's eyes, was most suitable for training of a less severe nature, and the serene surroundings provided a sufficient environment for Sasuke to grow more comfortable outside of Konoha.

But as August drew to a close, Orochimaru had decided it was high time to introduce summoning to Sasuke's repertoire.

Naturally, he doubted Sasuke and the snakes would get along. In fact, he was expecting it, and it pleased him. Orochimaru was in reality planning Sasuke's training very carefully so that he would not advance too fast. Orochimaru was aware that his own strength would deplete over the course of time as his body became weaker, and with that would come more opportunities for Sasuke to betray him.

Not that Orochimaru thought he would be easy to defeat, or doubted his own strength, he wouldn't _dream of it_ , but as a precaution -  _just_  a precaution - and to buy himself time. Yes, time.

He made sure Sasuke would learn the least beneficial techniques first.

 

* * *

 

 

_In the colder months, they would stay in the underground bases; the dim, cool, mechanical ones, where the majority of their time was spent in labs and in silence._

_Orochimaru was standing with his back to the door when Kabuto came in. For once he was putting their dusty, lightless kitchen to use; his hands busy at the counter. Daylight illuminated the small room through the square skylight directly above Orochimaru, the rays highlighting the miniscule dust particles floating serenely through the air._

_The medic didn't greet him; their relationship was not one that required amicable alerts of one another's presence. Acknowledgement came when it was earned._

_As he came closer he saw what Orochimaru had occupied himself with was a brilliant scarlet pomegranate. The fruit had stained the wooden chopping board and Orochimaru's white skin. Inevitable splashes of the pomegranate's red water had also found its way onto Orochimaru's furisode sleeves; also white, Kabuto noted. Next to the board was a small black ceramic bowl, which the dark-haired man was in the process of filling; slowly, removing seed by seed of the ruby fruit._

_"You're wearing an expensive white furisode to shell one of the messiest, staining fruits around?"_ **_It's like you want to make my life difficult._ ** _Kabuto would have kept talking, scolding his master for the apparent carelessness, but Orochimaru's silence could have implied an irritable - or worse, unpredictable - mood and Kabuto didn't want to step on any mines by pissing him off._

_Still, Orochimaru said nothing; he simply gave an absent smile as if he hadn't heard. The deft, thin hands kept working; peeling off pieces of the fleshy membrane, picking off individual gem-like grains of the fruit, dropping them into the bowl, and repeat.  From a distance the sight could have been frightening; pomegranates did strikingly resemble the human heart with their brilliant colour, scarlet liquid trickling down Orochimaru's hands and staining the sheet-white skin, small divides of white membrane like fat deposits._

_As Orochimaru dissected the fruit, piece by piece, Kabuto briefly wondered if there was another metaphor to this beyond the obvious, fearmongering gore images, but in truth, he did not really care. He turned and left Orochimaru to his work in silence._

 

* * *

 

 

The first time they had slept together, Orochimaru mused, Kabuto had been nothing short of  _reverent_ , respectful, even apologetic at times as he went about it. Worship in the bedroom. But surely this was no longer the case, no; if anything now, his misty-haired doctor was entitled, territorial, taking what he wanted when he wanted it. He's far too confident, Orochimaru thought. For at least a year now Kabuto had been acting as though they were on equal terms - when they were alone, at least. In front of others – Sasuke in particular - Kabuto had no qualms to remind everyone of their inferiority to Orochimaru- _sama_  and how _indebted_ they all were to him, how they should report with _punctuality_ and speak _politely_ and use the right honorifics.

Not that Kabuto used honorifics anymore when they were alone together. Always just  _Orochimaru_ ; once or twice, even  _kimi_ or  _anata._ Orochimaru never called him out on this, however, no; tensions coming inbetween their trust was the last thing he wanted and, after all, it wasn't in his nature to interfere. He simply observed, as far as no harm was done.

And indeed, in the dark hours as Kabuto wound a tangled strand of black hair around a dexterous forefinger, and Orochimaru breathed fast and twisted his bony hands into the sheets, no harm was done.

 _You have no idea_ , Orochimaru thought, eyes rolling back towards the ceiling.

You have no idea how lucky you are to have me.

Kabuto woke lazily, feeling considerably worse than he had when he had fallen asleep, in the afterglow. Orochimaru lay on his side, turned away from the medic, tousled black hair thrown forward, as though he had been standing in the wind, over what must have been his sleeping face. Glancing down, Kabuto noticed what must have been the reason for his waking up; the majority of the blanket tucked under Orochimaru's arm, and the rest spilling over his side of the bed. Perhaps he was justified in that, judging by Orochimaru's bare white back compared with his own, clothed; but even so. He had to wonder about the logic of the unconscious human body considering Orochimaru would have been warmer with Kabuto's added body heat.

No matter.

He got up promptly and cleaned himself off in the adjoining bathroom, extravagant as it was; Kabuto disliked Orochimaru's taste in furnishing, to tell the truth. His bedroom, with its piles of candles upon candles and oversized incense-holders with six sticks lit at time; the bathroom, dark green patterned tiles on the floor and walls, taps and faucets fashioned from jade and dark metals, wind chimes, fuurin bells and ninjutsu seal-patterns for memorising suspended from every overhanging surface available. It was irritating, not to mention impractical. But then, he supposed with a sneer, Orochimaru was not a particularly practical person.

He was broken out of his criticisms by a choking cough from the next room. A familiar sound, it didn't concern him greatly; but still he ran to his lover's side, lifting dense black hair up and out of his face, enclosing an arm around Orochimaru's neck and back to support him as he shook and retched blood onto the dark tiled floor. Once he was done, half-conscious, emitting no more than dry weak coughs, Kabuto gently laid him back in his previous position before wiping up the small splatter of blood and mucus from the floor - and for once he was grateful for the choice of tiles over wood - and hastily deserting the room to fetch various medicines and herbal concoctions which would be poured down an unknowingly reluctant throat (and presumably be vomited up a few hours later for Kabuto to repeat the process).

And once his job was done and the pale light of dawn was beginning to shine dimly through the shaded skylight, Kabuto knelt beside Orochimaru's bedside and stared on him blankly. Taking in the mussed hair pooling about him and spilling across the pillows, falling down around small, unbound breasts. Closed eyes, darkly shadowed by ever-present birthmarks sitting beneath a furrowed brow, and an overgrown fringe fallen lazily over one eye. One aquamarine earring, usually hidden by the mass of dark hair, was now sitting in plain view on the smooth white column of Orochimaru's bare neck. Kabuto brushed one finger over it idly, without any particular purpose, and leant close till he could feel Orochimaru's ragged illness-scented breath on his neck.

And caught in the moment, the combined scents of incensed blood and perfumed vomit, and his own bitter, bitter thoughts, he whispered;

"You have no idea how lucky you are to have me."

He lingered for a second more, listening to Orochimaru's irregular breathing like it was punctuation. Satisfied, he stood, and as if nothing had happened; almost lovingly he pulled the blanket to cover Orochimaru's thin barely-clothed frame, blew out the few remaining candles in the corners of the room, and left without another noise.

In the quiet underground room, between dim, dust-kissed rays of pale sunlight, and under clouds of smoke billowing towards the ceiling from newly-extinguished perfume candles, Orochimaru lay silent, and very much awake.

Orochimaru gave his affections freely and indiscriminately, regardless of mood, place, time, gender. There were some subordinates he would revisit in the hideouts he returned to; some would revisit him, knocking on his office door late into the night. Kabuto heard them coming, heard them going. Sometimes he would even see it as he patrolled the dark stone corridors at night, saw the tousled hair and mussed robes pressed against a wall in the candlelight, saw his master being touched by people who did not deserve to touch him.

Sometimes he even listened.

Listened to the moans and gasps, with every minute growing more agitated, nails digging into his palms, wondering why it was some insignificant underling's name being whispered and not his. The names, the names. It infuriated Kabuto how Orochimaru insisted on remembering all the names! Who really cared, in the end, what some random ex-Kumo shinobi or haggard mutant's name was? Did it matter? Orochimaru didn't need to know any names except Kabuto's. Kabuto Yakushi, Nonou Yakushi's son, the name Orochimaru had given him. The only name Orochimaru had ever given which _mattered_. Kabuto touched himself in the blissfully blanketing darkness of that corridor.

And the logical side of him, the doctor's side knew, it was wrong of him. Orochimaru wasn't his. And while they were close, Kabuto knew that truly, there was nothing there. Orochimaru didn't love people, or at least, not anymore - not for a long time. Kabuto was resigned to the fact that his feelings were never going to be reciprocated, or rather, not in the way he wanted them to. Deep within his brain, a little rebellious voice murmured, _you’re obsessed._ Kabuto envisioned a door and he slammed it shut.

Truthfully, Kabuto wanted Orochimaru to need him. To want him. To be lost without him. To Yakushi Kabuto few things were a higher ego-booster than the knowledge that Orochimaru would have died without his presence, would be endangered, scared, without him. Love wasn't necessary - matters of the heart were purely biological as far as Kabuto was concerned. No, what he wanted was dependence. Attachment.

At some point, awkwardly, the topic had come up. Multiple times, in fact.

"He's just a slut," Sasuke had said, boredly, and Kabuto very nearly slapped him. Nearly.

Guren had known better. This was, of course, after she herself had been physically involved with Orochimaru. Noticed the dirty looks that seemed to be paired with Kabuto's general presence. Guren didn't particularly like Kabuto - in fact, the vast majority of Otogakure didn't - but there was a certain bond that all Oto ninja seemed to have as a rule. They were all there for a reason, and so any mutual dislike, generally, was restricted to the occasional argument and spiteful glare.

"What do you even want from him?" Guren had said irritably that same afternoon. (By now, it was common knowledge that any mention of "him" around Kabuto was referring to Orochimaru.)

"I don't want anything from him," the medic replied coldly, not prepared for an emotional talk about feelings with the stoic woman. Or anyone, for that matter.

Guren just snorted. "If that were true, you wouldn't be hanging around all the time constantly looking hurt and miserable."

"Well, to be perfectly honest I'm not entirely comfortable with him getting fucked by every-"

"Why not?" Her eyes glinted. It was a challenge. "What's wrong with it? Are you in _love_  with him or something? Do you think you're more special than the rest of us because you're always by his side like a loyal dog?"

Kabuto opened his mouth to retort but was once again cut off-

"Or, you want him to need you."

He closed his mouth again.

Guren's tone was one of mock-pity now, as she cocked her head to the side.

"Hah, you're dumber than you look. You know that's what he wants, right? Keeps you by his side until _you_ need ‘im. But _he's_ never going to need you, you know. He'll be around long after you're gone."

Kabuto said nothing, simply twitched his eye in irritance. Guren's tone gained confidence, starting to lose any subtle airs, becoming accusatory.

"I can't believe you've _actually_ fallen into the same trap so many of the losers here have. He doesn't need you. Anyone could do your job - you're just a means to an end -"

At this point Kabuto didn't look at her, simply turned on his heel and began to walk the other way. Guren continued to shout after him as he left, words of discouragement and criticism. Kabuto didn't listen to them. There was no way that some  _bitch_  like her could know Orochimaru better than he, Kabuto, the highest ranking subordinate, Orochimaru's favorite. She was merely _jealous_.

The blue-haired woman chortled at the immature reaction but ceased her taunts, simply sparing a glance at her manicured nails before turning back the way she came.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Not now, Sasuke."

There was a resigned sort of abandon in Orochimaru's voice, dismissive, and though Sasuke was now almost fifteen years of age he felt like a child again. For in Orochimaru's stature as he turned away there was Itachi, Itachi's cruel forefingers promising a better 'next time' that would never come. In his bored tone there was Fugaku, an uninterested man - an unimpressed  father - wanting peace and quiet; since Sasuke had come here he reasoned he had not done too badly at exerting his presence, his importance; yet here with his mentor, though he was ashamed to admit it; he felt  _inferior_. He felt as if he had to constantly assert authority because Orochimaru was like some nightmarish embodiment of _every wall that Sasuke couldn't climb_. In his tone there was Fugaku. In his actions there was Itachi. Hell, from some angles, he even looked like Mikoto, albeit several times more terrifying and strange.

There was something else, though, unguarded, pressing into Sasuke's peripheral vision; as Orochimaru turned to leave there was a look of intense triumph in Kabuto's eyes, Kabuto who had been lurking quietly in the corner as he always did, like a draught in a warm house. But the look in his eyes, glaring from behind two thick glass ovals, was no benign smirk nor childishly smug "look who's more popular". It was victorious, maliciously victorious, and behind it lurked a look of -

\- of insatiable hunger.

  
It brought to mind how Manda had looked, all that time ago - as Orochimaru had finished rewarding him for a job well done - in the forest clearing with a corpse between his jaws.

Sasuke felt as though he had been burned.

But much like a burn, the immediate pain was over the second he lifted his gaze; and upon glancing back to the medic, all expression was gone, replaced only with his usual serious demeanor as he followed Orochimaru out the room.

  
Indeed the room was dim; but Sasuke did not believe he had imagined it. His eyes did not play tricks on him here.

 

 

* * *

 

In the weeks they spent in underground hideouts, the atmosphere was tense, taut; stress built up in the dark and the damp and a dull sense of illness and stagnance would plague the medic's mind. But here, in the grander sites, these elegant buildings that seemed befitting of royalty; something else was present, a change of mood; something that almost led Kabuto to forget the cruelty and darkness he so frequently witnessed. Here, where the breezes blew gently and soft chimes rang from rooftops; orphaned children played together in the tall rustling grasses and the cicadas chirped louder with each hour. It was at times like these Kabuto understood why Otogakure was called the Village of Sound.

Orochimaru poured tea like an oiran, in a way that could only have been honed through excessive practice; for a fleeting moment he almost wants to ask where, _when_ he had the time to learn a skill so uncommon as tea ceremony. There were others, too; the koto lying in storage that Kabuto had never seen nor heard in use, and yet, for some reason, the thing never seemed to need dusting nor tuning.

He supposed it had never occurred to him that his master may have secrets.

Secrets from him.

"If you do  _insist_  on lingering here, Kabuto, at least sit down."

The hoarse voice interrupted the medic's reverie and he obliged, reluctantly. Kabuto was never comfortable lowering his guard around Orochimaru; not for lack of trust, of course, but rather - he felt it was out of place in his duty as a bodyguard.

"You know I can't leave you on your own," Kabuto reminded him in gentle admonishment as he seated himself opposite the man pouring tea. "You're unwell."

Orochimaru's eyes narrowed at that and he stared at Kabuto unblinking for a few, tense seconds before allowing the moment to pass.

"You speak as if I am a child," he said softly, not looking at Kabuto, amber gaze fixated on the slow stream of green liquid pouring out the teapot, " - or a dying dog living out my last days on the hearth." He pushed the teacup across the table briefly, indicating for Kabuto to take it. Kabuto picked up the tea in silence, not responding for though he did constantly worry for his master's health, he knew well that Orochimaru will remain long, long after he has dropped off the mortal coil.

They sat in silence for a time – taking in the sun and beauty around them -

  
But the ethereal painted atmosphere came crashing down as the teacup slipped from Orochimaru's light grip and hit the floor with a dull thud, his body convulsing as he gasped and choked, angular frame heaving in shaking coughs, blood spraying onto white palms. The hoarse sound like knives, cutting open the serene silence, the warm air blowing around them. Snapped back to reality Kabuto ran to his master's side, pulling him up - hands on hands on forehead - cold sweat, swear words. Orochimaru hated everything he had become. Kabuto had nothing to say as he half-carried, half-dragged his dying lover away from the sunlight, back into the dimly lit rooms stinking of medicine and blood and sex. Things were crumbling, Kabuto thought as Orochimaru's stained eyelids slid shut, rolling back into sickness-induced unconsciousness. His master's skin had always been cool to touch – he mused as he slipped his hands in the folds of Orochimaru’s kimono to remove the bandages restricting his chest. Sometimes he felt scared to touch Orochimaru's bare skin. He felt like it would crack and break beneath his fingertips, like gyoza pastry rolled too thin.

 Kabuto stayed in Orochimaru's room that night, his duties forgotten.

  
And, months later, it was the three of them once again. The hawk, so deadset on leaving the nest. It was where Kabuto found the nameless ruin - rather, pieces of it - bloody and battered, smeared across the room. And the body before that, the body he knew, lying motionless, hunched over in the futon by the wall. The body he knew in one place, and the person he knew in another. Orochimaru's human body, hair plastered with blood across his face, was lying neatly against some pillows while the man himself was splattered in pieces across the room and alongside him was the smell of blood and poison, still lying thick in the air. Blood, poison and death. Ironic, Kabuto thought. Maybe that was all he had been.

And for a moment Kabuto debated on whether or not it's worth moving. From the certain death that awaited in the air.

But he did regardless. Numb. Eyes wide, stumbling out of the room and slamming the door behind him, hand clamped over his mouth. Tears pricking at the bottom of his eyes, from the intense toxic gases in the air; or from something else.

There was so much unanswered; so much left behind. Kabuto couldn't describe it. The sense of loss was so intense it was beyond words. Because what had he lost? Everything. His grief-stricken mind frantically put together potential scenarios; the looming question of what happens now. When he, Orochimaru, had been the answer to everything; the leader; the centre of worship. When something goes wrong, you ask Orochimaru what to do. When you're lost, Orochimaru will help you find your way. Orochimaru will fix you. Orochimaru will save you. Orochimaru -

He wouldn't.

Orochimaru was a dismembered, brutalised corpse in the room behind the door.

And what, what was the solution? There wasn't one. When the word got out, Otogakure would crumble. People would run away, start new lives; nobody would bother to salvage this motley crew, nobody valued what they had here. The home. It was in this moment, as Kabuto sank to his knees, breathless, back against the wall - that he realised his entire life had revolved around Orochimaru. Before him, what had there been? A few fleeting memories, smiling faces that wouldn't last.

Without Orochimaru, who was he?

_It seems you no longer see yourself clearly._

What Kabuto wouldn't have given for that outstretched white hand in front of him now.

Orochimaru had always been the centre of everything. His purpose. When was the last time he had worried about something that wasn't Orochimaru? Felt accomplished about something unrelated to him?

  
He had been an extension of Orochimaru, not another person. Too closely linked to lose him now. Orochimaru would have existed with or without Kabuto, yet Kabuto could not have existed without Orochimaru.  
Yet now, Orochimaru no longer existed.

Obsessed. Kabuto thought back to all the times when he had hated his master. When he had hated him as a lover, or a friend, or an employer. Too submissive, too domineering, too cynical, lazy, cryptic, unpredictable, irritable. His tears sprang anew. They stung his eyes.

Yet as time passed, Kabuto paused to think, his vision clearing. The scientist inside him bottled his grief like a sample for testing. The white noise in his mind was all but shut off. And all too soon the world rushed back to him in vivid definition. If he could no longer be an extension of Orochimaru, then Orochimaru would be an extension of him.

* * *

 

And days later, while searching for more research, more links, more proof his master had truly existed; Kabuto found something, wrapped up in string, a piece of scroll parchment in the back of one of Orochimaru's desk drawers. A letter, addressed to him. Orochimaru had, of course, known Kabuto was going to find this, surely. Orochimaru knew everything.

Upon opening it, there was less than he had hoped for. A small date was scrawled in the top right corner. The date; referring back to approximately a month prior. When Orochimaru had first started truly fearing for his life. In the centre of the page, a single sentence, written in a dark ink, handwriting messy; the kanji almost indecipherable. It read:

 

 

カブト

あなたは私を必要としません。

大蛇丸。

 

It was not what Kabuto wanted to hear.  
He wept.


End file.
